Prelude to Magic: The Prequel to Moonlight and Illusions (10 page)

“Are you here, Ruby love?”

A cough was the only response. Stephen hurried
through the small sitting room and flung open the door. A small
figure lay huddled under the blankets.

“Ruby! Are you ill, dearest?”

Closing the door softly, he moved into the dim room.
Outside the window, the sun descended in a fiery ball. Striking a
match, he lit the gas lamp on the wall before going to the
bedside.

“I’m cold,” she whispered.

“We’ll fix that.” Stephen went to the armoire,
pulled out every blanket he could find, and covered his shivering
wife. Placing a hand on her soft cheek, he nearly gasped aloud.

“My Lord! You’re so feverish! I’m sending for a
doctor. I’ll be back momentarily.”

He ran back down the stairs and found Mrs. Martin,
the landlady. She quickly sent her young son to bring back the
local doctor then accompanied Stephen back upstairs.

“I’ve brought Mrs. Martin to help, sweetheart.”
Stephen bent over the bed, his heart pounding with panic. He had no
idea how to help a sick person. Ruby had rarely been ill and she
had always cared for Calvin through his childhood illnesses. If
only magic could restore health.

Her slender fingers gave his a squeeze. “Thank you,
my love. I’ll be better soon,” she said and was promptly seized by
a fit of coughing.

“Here, Mr. Elliott, give her a spoon o’ honey. Me
mam always recommended honey for a cough,” Mrs. Martin said,
passing him a spoon.

With a shaking hand, Stephen dipped the spoon in the
honey jar the woman held out. Slipping his arm under Ruby’s head,
he put the sweet stuff into her mouth. She swallowed it and
subsided against the pillows, mustering a small smile.

“Here, sweetie. These might help.” Mrs. Martin gave
Ruby a hot water bottle and a mustard plaster for her congested
chest.

“You were not sick this morning, my darling. When
did you begin feeling poorly?” Stephen sat beside her on the bed
after seeing the landlady out.

With a hoarse sigh, his wife rolled on her side,
sniffling a bit. She raised weary, red-rimmed eyes to him. “About
half way through my marketing, right by the produce stand, my bones
began aching and my chest tightened. I came home right away and got
into bed.”

“My poor, Ruby.” Stephen wiggled down to lie face to
face with his wife. “You should get some sleep now.”

She nodded and readily closed her eyes. For a long
time he watched her chest rise and fall, listening to the small
wheeze in her breathing. How he could have left her alone to go off
and pursue his ambitions once more? What a selfish, selfish man he
was.

A rapping at the door woke him from dreams of
disappearing rabbits and shimmering ghosts. With a glance at his
wife, he rose from the bed as stealthily as possible, so as not to
wake her.

The tall slim man on the other side tipped his
bowler. “Mr. Elliott? I’m Doctor Peterson. I understand you sent
for me?”

“Yes, please come in. My wife is very ill.”

The doctor made him wait in the sitting room while
he examined Ruby. Unable to sit, Stephen paced the width and
breadth of the cozy room many times before the physician eventually
emerged from the bedroom.

“You are quite correct, Mr. Elliott, your wife is
very sick. She had some abnormal sounds in her breathing, which I
attribute to acute bronchitis. Keep her warm and strictly confined
to bed.” From his black bag, he pulled out several brown and
blue-colored bottles.

Although Stephen tried very hard to pay attention to
the directions the doctor gave, the words became a blur of
“tincture” and “menthol” and “dissolved.”

“Please, Dr. Peterson,” Stephen fumbled at a table
for a pencil and paper, “would you please write down the
instructions? I am too distraught to remember.”

“Certainly, sir.” He accepted the items. “Mr.
Elliott, while this illness can be quite severe, with luck Mrs.
Elliott will recover. Would you have a female relative to nurse
her?”

“I will be taking on the job, Doctor, so please give
me thorough instructions.” This crisis had come at him unexpectedly
and he must bolster his confidence to handle this alone. Ruby had
to recover and he had to make it happen. His insides quivered. This
catastrophe fell on his shoulders alone. No sleight of hand or
concealing smoke could help him now.

For the next few days, Stephen read the instructions
many, many times and followed each one to the letter, getting Ruby
to take her medicine as directed. Still, her cough grew worse and
the fever did not abate.

Mrs. Martin came by several times a day bringing hot
soup and bread for both of them.

“Ruby, please eat,” Stephen begged. He held out a
spoonful of broth and vegetables.

“I’m not hungry.” Her voice was a mere whisper of
sound.

With his other hand he brushed a damp curl from her
hot forehead. “Please eat it anyway, for me.”

Obligingly, she took a few spoonfuls before turning
away. Despair nearly choking him, Stephen left the bowl on the
table and stood looking down at his wife. Dark circles colored the
skin under her eyes. She appeared so terribly pale and weak. He ran
a hand through his hair in frustration.
What can I do? She’s not
recovering.
Fear made him want to cry, scream, or vomit.

Putting a hand on the stone’s pouch out of habit, he
walked to the window. Outside the sun shone brightly, as usual here
in San Francisco. It didn’t seem right to see the flowers bloom and
hear the birds sing while his Ruby faded away before his very eyes.
Why didn’t he have the magic needed to get her well?

Fingering the hard lump of stone hidden in the
velvet, a sudden thought hit him. He pulled out the Mayan charm. In
the daylight it would not react. The rounded eyes and small oblong
mouth set in a half smooth, half textured square rock had not
changed in the past twenty-two years despite frequent handling.

Carrying it in his palm to Ruby’s bedside, he
kneeled next to the bed. Gently touching her fevered cheek, he
called her name softly.

When she raised her heavy lids to meet his gaze, he
pulled out his last argument. “I’ll do it, Ruby. I’ll get rid of
the stone, for you, sweetheart. I’ll throw it in the ocean.”
Groping under the blanket, he found her hand. “You have to fight
this illness. No more magic. I’ll go back to being a carpenter, if
you’ll please, please just try harder. I’m begging you!”

She shook her head, just a tiny motion. “No,” she
whispered. “Don’t do it. The stone is too much a part of you now,
Stephen. Besides, Cal wouldn’t want you to. You must not stop doing
magic. Our son loved it so.”

Her eyelids slid closed, but her fingers curled
around his weakly. Each breath rattled in her chest and it
frightened him beyond measure. The whole thing was living
nightmare. Any minute now she would rally and go back to the vital,
healthy person he lived with for so many years. Perhaps he would
die instead, his heart ached so badly.

“Oh, please, please, my love. Please try harder. You
need to eat and drink more.” Raising her hand to his lips, he
kissed each knuckle and offered her a glass of water.

With obvious effort, she opened her eyes to gaze at
him again and took a tiny sip. “Don’t cry, darling.” The corners of
her mouth lifted slightly. “You are my magician. All the girls will
be so jealous, my handsome one.”

He sent for a different doctor. The man examined
Ruby, handed Stephen the same set of medicines, and left looking
grim.

After another terrible night spent forcing medicine
in her mouth and listening to her awful cough, Stephen had Mrs.
Martin’s son bring a third doctor. This physician gave a more
ominous pronouncement. Ruby’s bronchitis had become pneumonia. The
physician handed over the same brown and blue bottles.

“It’s not helping! Don’t you have something else?
She’s dying! You have to do something!” Stephen was beyond
desperate.

“Mr. Elliott! Control yerself, sir!” Mrs. Martin
pried his fingers from the doctor’s lapels. “Let him go!”

Stephen let go, staggered to a chair and sank into
it, his head in his hands. “I’m sorry. I-I’m just so desperate for
help.”

“I’m sorry too, sir,” the doctor said softly. “I
wish there was more I could do.”

The landlady ushered the man out and returned
moments later. Stephen had not moved. His last chance for a cure
had just walked out the door after dashing his hopes.

“Mr. Elliott,” Mrs. Martin’s voice came from above
him. “Go. Spend this time with your wife. She shouldn’t be
alone.”

He nodded. Falling apart could wait. His wife needed
him.

So he went back into their bedroom, the place where
they had talked and made love. Bolstering his courage again, he
urged Ruby to drink, to take her medicines, and to eat. Sometimes
she complied and other times did not. He bathed her face and
feverish body with cool water and dressed her again in a clean
nightgown. In short, he did everything both he and Mrs. Martin
could think to do, but Ruby’s health continued to decline.

Late one night, Stephen woke from a doze to the
sound of Ruby’s voice. “My sweet boy, Mama is coming to be with
you,” she said clearly.

Stephen’s heart stuttered and nearly stopped. He
wanted to yell, to beg her not to go, not to leave him here alone.
While his mind begged, he kept his mouth shut and held her close,
tears streaming down his face. He could never be sure if it was
just her time or Ruby’s decision made it happen, but she quietly
passed away in his arms within a short time of uttering those
words. The moment her life’s spirit left her body, he knew, but he
held her throughout the night, unwilling to accept the truth. Mrs.
Martin came in the next morning and Stephen had no choice but to
let his beloved wife go. Even the
Companion
Spirit
could bring no measure of comfort to his badly broken heart.

* * *

He took her back to Philadelphia so she could lie
forever next to their son. Only his former assistant, Jacob, knew
of their return and came to pay his respects at the burial. There
were no family members left alive. Stephen had no choice but to
sneak into the city under cover of darkness like a thief or risk
recognition and persecution.

They buried her on a Tuesday.

“What will you do now, Stephen?” Jacob placed his
hat on his head again as they walked away from the cemetery on a
bright spring day Ruby would have loved. The air smelled of
dampness and green growing things.

“I honestly have no idea, my friend,” Stephen
responded. “Thank you so much for handling the sale of the house. I
could not have faced it.”

“I was pleased to help. Mary is thrilled with the
furniture you gave us. She loves the pieces you made.” Jacob’s
wire-rimmed glasses glinted in the sunlight, hiding his eyes, but
his voice gave away his sorrow.

“I’m glad,” he said, but honestly didn’t know if he
could possibly be glad about anything ever again.

The two men walked along in silence for some time,
heading for one of their favorite restaurants, although Stephen had
no appetite. In fact, he hadn’t been hungry since before Ruby had
died.

“So you sold the Model T?” Jacob asked.

“Yes, I sold or gave away everything except my
clothes. They’re at the hotel.”

“Do you still have the stone?”

Stephen had been expecting this question. Why
wouldn’t Jacob be curious about the stone and its powers? He had
seen its effects.

“Yes, I can’t bring myself to get rid of it now.”
Putting a hand to his chest, he could feel the reassuring bump
under his coat and shirt. “You know Ruby hated it.” His throat
immediately convulsed at the mention of her name and he had to
swallow the lump of sorrow.

“I know. She asked me once to steal it from you and
destroy it.” Jacob pulled a white handkerchief out of his pocket
and blew his nose loudly. “I couldn’t do that to you. I know how
much it means to you.”

He stared at Jacob then, startled by this
revelation. “Thank you. I wonder why Ruby didn’t take it herself
when you didn’t.”

“Oh, she did take it.”

More surprises. “I never noticed it missing. How did
she accomplish this?”

Arriving at the Bull and Bear, they went inside and
sat down at a table by the window. Stephen took out a pair of dark
glasses and put them on. Jacob nodded his understanding. If anyone
recognized the magician and remembered the incident with the
falling lumber several years ago, who could predict the
outcome?

His friend took off his own spectacles and cleaned
them with the napkin. “Do you remember the time you got hurt when
that man yelled ‘fire’ in the middle of the act?”

“Of course.” Stephen handed his menu to the waitress
after ordering. “It hurt like hell to have my arm broken by the
blacksmith’s anvil, but the fault was mine for letting the man
distract me. She took the stone then? Why did she return it before
I realized the charm was gone?”

Jacob leaned closer and lowered his voice. “She had
a duplicate made so you didn’t notice, but when she saw how quickly
your bones knitted, and how you credited that little charm, she put
the real
Companion
Spirit
back. She was a product of
her time, Stephen. As a woman she knew that your success was her
success. The stone offered magic, and magic meant the world to
you.”

“No, Jacob. Ruby meant the world to me and I took
her for granted. She never told me about what she did, even at the
end when I offered to get rid of the stone.”

Their meal arrived. He tasted very little, but he
had to eat to keep up his strength. Jacob knew far more than
Stephen ever realized. It stunned him once again to learn the
amount of love his wife had demonstrated for him. She hated the
Mayan charm, and what it had done and could do. Now she had left
him and he had to live with his regrets and uncertainty alone, and
the agony consumed his soul.